A-Men
by Kelseyo Massacre
Summary: Sam Winchester was abducted from his home nearly twenty-two years ago, and was put through years of torture and trauma. How does he cope with coming back to the 'real' world and learning that all of his 'friends' back at Cold Oak are actually 'Savs.' Monsters. Does that make Sam Winchester a monster, too? Or is he, ultimately, human? (AU, Eventual Destiel, Possible Triggers)
1. Dreams

" _But listen carefully to the sound_

 _Of your loneliness,_

 _Like a heartbeat, drives you mad,_

 _In the stillness of remembering_

 _What you had,_

 _And what you lost…_

 _And what you had…_

 _And what you lost."_

It was raining so hard that he felt like he was swimming. His tangled, ratty brown hair was plastered to his head, face and the back of his neck. He could hardly see- it was so dark; the light from the stars and the full moon hidden behind a thick veil of clouds. He could tell where the moon was hiding, for the patch of clouds in front of it was lighter than the surrounding walls of gray.

He was running, back against where the moon should be. His bare, swollen feet splashed in mud and puddles, dirtying them and his long, gray sweatpants at the same time, but he didn't care. He didn't even remember why he was running, or when he had started, but he knew he was getting away from something dark, evil, and malicious.

A howl cut through the wet air and he gasped, slamming one of his feet down to stop himself. The soles of his feet were bleeding, but he hardly felt the pain. His head whipped around in all directions. He couldn't tell where the howling was coming from but he knew-

It was coming for him.

So he began to run even faster. The rain hit him hard, feeling like needles trying to pierce through his tanned skin. His lungs were burning from the lack of oxygen. His throat was dry and his eyes wide, but he didn't stop running. He couldn't stop running. He had to find his home.

He couldn't remember where home was, but he knew that he needed to find it.

He vaguely recalled the sound of metal clanking. The smell of gasoline and motor oil. Laughter.

He had to find the mechanic in town. Apparently there was only one shop in town, and it was owned by a family of mechanics, the Winchesters. That name felt like an abrupt kick in the gut. Winchester. Winchester... He knew that surname from somewhere. It was crying for him to recognize it. Begging him to remember, but he couldn't. It had been too long; far too long.

Suddenly, there was a light pointed at him, shining so abruptly bright in his eyes.

"Who are you?" A gruff, masculine voice demanded to know.

"I- I don't-" He began, words tumbling out his mouth. He had forgotten what words tasted like, forgotten what his own voice sounded like. "-I don't know!" He finished exasperatedly, panic set on his thin features.

The man grew closer, shining the invading light all over his body.

"What are ya? A Sav? You a freak?" He demanded, still drawing nearer.

"I don't know wh-what a 'Sav' is-"

"-A freak! You are then, aren't ya?"

He had no idea why this sudden, seemingly violent and potentially dangerous, appearance of a man was calling him a 'Sav,' a freak. He backed away, throwing his hands up in a placating manner.

"I'm n-not a freak!" He told him, voice quaking due to the nervousness that he felt, and the fact that he didn't have any recollection whatsoever to the last time he had eaten or, well, slept.

"Y'sure 'bout that?" The other male questioned, and he suddenly found himself thrown to the ground. His back popped thrice as he was manhandled, and then the guy was abruptly on top of him, straddling his stomach. Pain split into his cheekbone as he was punched. Hard. He cried out in pain; that was sure to leave a bruise.

He was faced with two options. Firstly: lay there and let this stranger wail on him until he was a bloody mess, because the stranger would probably get fed up and leave anyways. Secondly: to easily shove the stranger off of him, probably kick him a couple of times just to dish out just desserts, and then steal his flashlight and take off.

He opted for the latter option.

With strength he didn't recall having, he simply threw the other male off of him and rolled over, pushing himself to his feet. He whipped around to see the stranger unconscious on the ground and he groaned, sauntering over to him and kneeling, grabbing the flashlight. He pushed the switch to the 'On' position and shined it in the other male's face, now getting a better look at him. There was nothing recognizable about him, he had average features and no noticeable scars or marks.

He turned the flashlight off and resumed walking. His face was throbbing and smarting, and he had no idea what he had provoked in that man. However, he found it oddly sickening how… calmly that he threw the man off of him, and wasn't even bothered by the fact that he had knocked him out. He just took his flashlight and headed off in the same direction as before.

He began to near a lamp post, and he paused underneath it to look at the flashlight in his hands. He twirled the metal thing around and flipped on the switch before he began to run again, panting, lungs searing. But he wasn't going to stop until he found the mechanics. He passed a gas station and slowed after he past it. There was a building right next to it, looking abandoned. There was a rusted sign in front of the desolate building.

 _Winchester Auto Repair._

His hazel eyes widened, and he approached the place. As he got closer, it became evident that the place was not abandoned. That it just wasn't open yet. He walked to the front door and eyed the sign that was in the window that gave the days that the shop was open, and what hours. Unfortunately, he had no idea what day it was. He knew it was night time, but he couldn't remember if it was closer to afternoon or day. He had lost all sense of direction and time since he had been away.

Since the shop wasn't open, he turned on his heel and padded towards the gas station, realizing how ragged his breath was. He didn't want to head in there looking absolutely atrocious, but he did want to get out of the rain. Struggling for just a moment over the decision, he finally went to the door and pushed it open, glancing around the dimly lit gas station. There didn't seem to be anybody there.

"H-Hello..?" He whispered, before clearing his throat. This whole speaking thing was still new to him. "Hello?" He called again, this time much louder, his voice ringing.

"Jus' a minute." Came a deep, tired-sounding voice. He wasn't sure where it came from.

He approached the counter and paused, looking down at himself. He was absolutely soaked from the downpour outside. His feet were sore, stinging, and bleeding. His legs ached, his chest ached, his entire body ached with a horrible pain. His head felt like nails were being hammered into him.

Just then, a gruff looking man came from an open doorway, rubbing his greasy hands onto a handkerchief. The elder man eyed him, trying to get a look for who he was, in case there was a way that he knew this person. He usually only got some family and friends who came in this late at night, otherwise they were travelers who would never show up again.

He looked to him, and pushed his wet hair back out of his face to show his familiar hazel eyes.

"A-Are you..?" He started to ask, and the man stilled, his gaze going hard.

"Winchester." The man said cautiously. Hesitantly.

He turned fully to him, taking a step forward, and the elder man took a step back.

"What do you want?" The elder man asked, and he slowly shrugged.

"I… I'm not sure…" He admitted softly. "I jus'... jus' knew I was s'pposed to come here…"

"Who told ya to come here, boy?"

Once again, he shrugged.

"I remember… the name…" He whispered, voice getting quieter and quieter as he seemed to sink back into himself. To recceed into the shell of a man that he truly was. How he had always been since he could ever remember.

The man slowly nodded and held a hand out. "M'name's John Winchester. That ring a bell, kid?"

He looked up sharply. "Yeah." He answered, and stared at John's hand, unsure of what to do.

"Ya shake it, kid." John said, voice going soft as well.

He slowly extended his hand and gently took John's hand, shaking it up and down before he paused, not letting go. He stared at their hands, tilting them to the side. He saw a wedding band on John's ring finger. His gaze slowly lifted back up to his eyes.

"Mary…" He said quietly, and John suddenly got a hurt expression that spread across his face.

"Yeah. Mary was my wife."

For some reason, this made his chest sting with a sharp ache. He let go of John's hand.

"Was..?"

John nodded his head weakly.

"Died, lil' over twenty years ago." He said quietly.

That made his eyes go wide, and a spinning feeling occurred in his head. He thought he was going to throw up, and he wrapped his long arms around his middle. John's eyebrows raised.

"You alright, boy?" He asked, and the young man didn't answer. He continued to feel like he was falling.

"And- y-you lost a son!" He gasped, a hand going to his head and he stumbled back some, nearly slipping in the puddle of water that had dripped from him onto the linoleum floor.

John was now very much alarmed and cautious.

"Yeah. I did. Now answer me, kid. You alright?!" He demanded, advancing on him.

As he stepped back, this time he actually did slip and he fell right on his backside. He drew his knees up to his chest and dropped his head between them, clasping his hands onto the top of his head, hyperventilating. John dropped down beside him, putting a hand gently between his shoulder blades, rubbing.

"Hey, kid. It's alright. Yer alright." He murmured, and the kid started to shake.

 _Winchester._ John and Mary _Winchester._ Mary _Winchester_ had died twenty years ago. They had two sons. Dean. Dean _Winchester._ Dean _Winchester_ would be twenty six years old.

"D-Dean."

"Yeah, that's my oldest. You a friend of Dean's?" John kept pressing, but the kid was too far gone.

Dean's little brother had been taken when Dean was four years old. Dean's birthday was in the beginning of the year. The little brother's birthday was in the middle of the year. He was only six months old. Six months old. He had been put through torture for nearly twenty-two years. He was twenty-two years old. Who was he? What was his name?

It suddenly exploded within his head. He gave a sharp cry of pain and the world began to spin as he slumped over, flopping to his side as he held his head, painful memories ripping through him, causing his entire body to convulse, gasping for air.

"Hey!" John called, but his voice was far off and warbled, like in a dream. John got up and ran to the telephone to call nine-one-one. The kid kept a tight hold of his head so it wouldn't explode.

He knew. He knew what they did to them. Him, and all the other kids that had went missing.

Cold Oak. He had been in Cold Oak. Doctor A. Who was Doctor A?

Max Miller.

Andrew Gallagher.

Ansem Weems.

Ava Wilson.

Lily Baker.

Scott Carey.

Jake - Jake. Jake Talley.

He threw his hand over his own mouth as sobs began to wrack through his body. John ran back over to him and dropped down again, rubbing his back. Soothing him. But no amount of soothing could help him from feeling safe from these horrific memories. Nothing could make him sane again. No amount of coddling or medicine could take away the pain.

Take the pain away from the injections. From the murders. The psychological trauma, along with the physical.

He was a monster.

A freak.

A demon.

A 'Sav'.


	2. Coming Home

" _I'm coming home,_

 _I'm coming home,_

 _Tell the world I'm coming home!_

 _Let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday_

 _And I know my my kingdom awaits,_

 _And they've forgiven my mistakes;_

 _I'm coming home,_

 _I'm coming home,_

 _Tell the world I'm coming home!"_

When he awoke, he couldn't entirely see. The whole room seemed to be white, but it was starting to darken. He blinked his hazel eyes repeatedly, giving a little gruff groan as he pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around. He felt something tug in his arm and he furrowed his eyebrows together and looked down at his arm to see an IV tapped into his arm.

He started to scream.

He jolted completely upright and ripped the intrusive thing out of his arm, ignoring the burning pain. Instantly, there were nurses running into his room.

"You need to calm down, love. You're in a hospital." One of them tried to soothe him.

He started breathing heavily again, trying to get out of the bed, but one nurse pushed him back down and held him there.

"You have to be careful of his wounds!" One nurse hissed, smacking the other's hands away and pushing her way to stand in front of him, placing her hands gently on his shoulders. She stared right into his eyes, and he swore that he had seen those eyes in his dreams before. The good dreams.

"Hey, hey. Calm down, sweetheart." She said soothingly.

"We're not gonna hurt you. You're okay. You're safe." She promised him, and he gulped down another one of his screams, quickly nodding his head.

"We're not gonna hurt you." She repeated, and slowly relinquished her hold. "We don't have to put the IV back in, but we do need you to lay back down on your back, honey." She said softly, and he slowly nodded again, pushing himself back onto the cot and he flopped down unceremoniously.

"That's good." She praised him, rubbing his arm. He looked at her in confusion, and she smiled gently at him.

"My name is Jessica." She greeted him. "Do you know why you're here?"

He shook his head, 'no'.

"Alright, love. Do you remember your name?"

He uncertainly nodded his head.

"Can you tell me your name?"

The young man paused, before he opened his mouth. "Sam…" He whispered, and she nodded.

"That's right. Your name is Sam Winchester. Do you remember anything from last night, Sam Winchester?" She continued to question him, the woman taking his large hand into her two extremely soft ones. He looked down to their hands and then back up at her.

"I saw... my father." He answered her, and Jessica nodded.

"Yes, you did. And he called nine-one-one, and we had to rush you in here. You were having a panic attack, Sam." She explained. "A very, very bad panic attack. You passed out before our EMTs had gotten there. But it's alright, because you're okay now. You're safe, and we have some people that would like to talk to you whenever you feel well-rested. Alright?"

Sam nodded his head.

"Is it my dad an' my brother?" He asked her, and Jess replied with a nod.

"Along with one of your dad's friends. John told me that he's like an uncle to Dean, and to you." She said to him, and Sam slowly nodded again.

"Okay. I'm ready..."

She rose one of her blonde eyebrows. "Are you sure? You can sleep some more if you want to, Sam."

He shook his head.

"Uh uh… Need to see them…" He maintained weakly, and Jess patted his hand.

"Okay. But you don't get out of this cot. You understand me?" She asked him, and he nodded like a complacent child.

She flashed a dazzling smile.

"Good." She praised him again, and let go of his hand, heading out of the room. He laid back into the hospital bed, looking around his room. It was bare, but not as bare as the hospital room that he was used to. Goosebumps rose all over his arms and legs and he got a constricting feeling in his chest again, and he wanted to scream once more. Tears built up in his eyes, but he blinked those away as the man from last night, his father, and two other men came into his hospital room. Sam sat up quickly.

"Hey." Sam said, and John's eyes lit up. He headed over to his boy and smiled.

"How you feelin', kiddo?" He asked softly, and Sam looked kind of surprised.

"Um… Real tired." He answered honestly, and John nodded his head. "Yeah, I get that."

Another young man stepped forward. He was tall, just about as tall as their father. He had lighter brown hair than him and his father, freckles all over his lean face. He had greener eyes than them, as well. He eyed Sam carefully before inching forward some more.

"You remember me..?" He whispered, and Sam actually produced a smile.

"Dean." He said softly, and Dean perked up instantly. He smiled right back at his little brother.

"That's right." He said, nodding his head.

"I'm your big brother." Dean said, very proud of that.

"Uh huh." Sam agreed with him, and then his gaze fell to the previously silent man in the dirty old hat that had some words that were faded across the front. He watched him for a few moments, until the man took a closer step.

"Hey." He greeted, voice deep and midwestern. "I'm Bobby. Bobby Singer." He introduced himself, and Sam nodded.

"You're… The one that Jess said's like an uncle." He reiterated Jess' explanation, and Bobby bobbed his head.

"Tha's right." He agreed, and Sam smiled a bit, before he turned his body around to try and get to his feet. John stopped him however, placing a big bear paw on the kid's shoulder. Sam looked up, startled. John gaze his shoulder a light squeeze.

"Gotta lay down, Sam." He said, and Sam's stomach flipped.

"Sam." He said quickly. "Jus'... Just Sam…" He squirmed a bit, before drawing his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs, and John looked alarmed all over again because that was the position that Sam was in before he had his last panic/anxiety attack. And he didn't want to have to go through that again.

"Hey, bud. It's alright. I'll just call ya Sam if ya want." He said, moving his hand to rub between his shoulder blades.

"'m sorry. Jus' don' like it." Sam mumbled into his knees, dropping his face between them, and John gave his son and friend a worried look. Dean took a seat right next to Sam and he wrapped an arm around him.

Sam tensed up immediately and picked up his head, giving Dean a surprised, incredulous look.

"What are y'doin'?" He asked him, sounding earnestly confused.

Dean blinked.

"'m huggin' you." He answered, and Sam continued to stare at him, but at least didn't scream, hyperventilate, or rip away from his elder brother. Instead, he slowly shifted closer to him. Leaning into his elder brother's touch, the young man completely starved of physical attention.

"Huggin'?" He repeated, and Dean nodded. "Uh huh."

"Why?" Sam asked, and Dean tilted his head to the side a bit.

"Uh… 'Cause it's… It's comforting?" He answered, though it sounded more like a question than an actual response.

Sam still found it confusing. But, he actually found that he did like it. John stood up and Sam looked to him before looking at Dean again, letting go of his legs to climb right over to Dean and deposit himself into his big brother's lap. It was Dean's turn to look incredulous. Sam dropped his head onto Dean's shoulder and closed his tired eyes.

After the initial shock of having a giant, yet surprisingly light-weight, twenty-two year old climb up into his lap like a child, he slowly wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close. Just holding him. And Dean began to wish that he had been able to do this more often. He remembered the last time that he held his little brother, so, so many years ago. The night his mother died, and his brother had been stolen from him.

Tears built up in Dean's eyes, and he sniffled. John got a little misty eyed as well, but he cleared his throat and blinked them away.

"That's real cute, Dean." John said, smiling a bit in a half-hearted teasing way, and Dean looked up, looking younger than he had in years.

"Uh huh. Jealous." He replied to him, forcing a toothy grin, and John meekly nodded.

"Kinda am." He admitted, since his son was the one that had been stolen away.

And with that, Sam had been deprived of the hugs, kisses, cuddles, and snuggles that he rightfully deserved. It had killed John when he realized that Sam had no idea what a hug really was. And that he needed attention and love and care, and God dammit would he be the best father he could be to his recently returned son. That he would change his ways, the ways he adapted by being a single father to his eldest son, Dean. He would be nicer. He would be more loving and accepting and understanding.

Dean shifted himself, carrying Sam as he sat on the cot, letting his huge body curl up in his lap as he held him. He pressed his back against the back of the bed, wanting to at least get comfy because he could tell by Sam's slowed breathing that he had fallen asleep in this position. And he wasn't about to wake his little brother up. No way in Hell. He was going to stay here, and be the first face that his little brother saw when he yawned and opened up his eyes.

John took a seat in the chair closest to the bed, and Bobby sat down on the sofa by the window.

"Might as well all take a nap while he's out." Bobby suggested, leaning back on the couch, pulling his hat over his eyes and crossing his arms across his chest, closing his eyes and he tried to doze off.

John liked that suggestion. He hadn't slept all night and was pretty damn tired. As was Bobby, since he had driven all the way from South friggin' Dakota to get here by the time that Sam had woken up this afternoon. Dean had been up all night, too. John had called him from his little family with a nice girl named Lisa Braeden that he insisted Dean seriously propose to her sooner or later.

They had a kid together. His name was Ben. John insisted that Dean propose for the kid at the least, but Dean always had commitment issues. John sometimes felt like Dean only stayed with Lisa because of Ben. But from what he knew of Dean, he knew that Dean really did love that girl. She was the only one who could keep his eldest in line better than he ever could.

Dean dropped his head on top of Sam's.

"Like that idea." He agreed with Bobby, closing his green eyes.

"Mhm." John grunted, leaning back in his seat.

The eldest man in the room closed his eyes as well and started to doze off as well.

For the moment, all was well in the world of John Winchester. His baby boy was back. Dean was content for the first time in twenty years. Bobby was here. It was all calm. It was relaxing.

Unfortunately, as they say… It's always calm before the storm.

He just didn't know what was brewing as he began to fall asleep in the chair of the hospital room.

None of them did.


End file.
